“This is a great country, Pandit. It should be given the chance to become that again. No, that is wrong; it should not be given the chance, India should take every opportunity to seize its destiny. The final comment I would make is this. Staying in the war is buying time; it is a reversible act that we can change in the future if needs must. Coming out now is irreversible. We must live with the decision come what may.”
Nehru nodded. “Persuading the rest of the Congress Party will not be easy. But with us gaining immediate independence and leaving the Commonwealth in the due course of events, I can gain enough support, I think. I need time to persuade them. Can you win me time?”
“We will try and buy some more time but our ability to do so is limited.”
“That is good news, in part at least. But, we never decided on what sandwiches to order. Egg or fishpaste?”
Nehru took a deep breath and made his decision. “Fishpaste.”
“Welcome to the Irish Republic, Madam.” The white-coated steward was as deferential as his position dictated. Each of the forty odd passengers on the Pan-American Clipper had paid 375 dollars for a single ticket on the twelve hour flight over the Atlantic. They’d been served a six-course evening meal before the long night flight. Eleanor Gwynne had been woken by the jolt of the flying boat landing in the Shannon Estuary. She’d spent the night in her curtained bunk-bed, soothed into sleep by the drone of the engines and the tranquil rust and beige color scheme around her. Now she smelled the heady aroma of fresh coffee.
“Breakfast will be served shortly. In the mean time, please accept a glass of Irish coffee, with the compliments of Pan-American Airlines.”
Eleanor looked at the glass in front of her. A brandy glass, filled with black coffee, topped with a thick layer of fresh cream. The steward had already moved to the next passenger and was repeating the morning ritual. She sipped the coffee; her senses were kick-started into action by the strong dose of Irish whiskey. She finished it off with relish. Eleanor still had time to visit the lady’s dressing room before sitting down to the first course of breakfast.
“A fruit and cream cheese salad, Madam? Or perhaps you would prefer our green bean salad? We also offer a fine Caesar salad mixed to your order from the serving trolley. And your choice of fresh fruit juice?”
“I’ll have the fruit please, with orange juice.” To Eleanor’s amazement, the juice really was fresh-squeezed and the salad was made with fresh-sliced fruit. She looked over to Achillea who had just settled into her seat across the table. “We don’t eat this well at home.”
“Did you try that Irish coffee?” Achillea had settled for the green bean salad and pineapple juice. “We’ll have to try that out on Phillip when we get back. I’d like to know how they get the cream to stay on top of the coffee though.”
“Pour it over the back of a silver spoon, madam.” The steward was back. “I would caution madam that it takes some practice to get just right though. May we offer you a Creole omelette, eggs Florentine or a southwestern scramble with your choice of meats and hashed potatoes?”
By the time Eleanor had worked her way through her eggs Benedict, croissants and another Irish coffee, she was feeling slightly comatose. It was with a certain degree of relief that she heard the engines start up and felt the big flying boat taxying out to take off. That was when Gusoyn entered the cabin and joined them. He also looked well-fed. “I hope you unmarried ladies have been fed as well as us unmarried gents.”
Eleanor snorted slightly, one thankfully masked by a judicious roar as the four engines increased power. The passenger deck of the flying boat was divided into cabins; the cabin for unmarried women was well separated from that for bachelors. The niceties had to be observed. “Superbly. Thank you, ducks. How long until we get to Southampton?”
“I asked our steward. It is a two and a half hour flight so we should be landing in Southampton at ten. Our train for Nottingham leaves two hours later. We have a Pullman coupe reserved for us. We should be at your family home by six. Loki has told them which train we are on. By the way, I hope you did eat well. It may be our last chance for quite a while. Food is still rationed in Britain, you know.”
“You mean they’ve kept rationing in place, even though the war is over? Why?”
“Last year, Britain imported 20 million tons of foodstuffs per year, including more than half of its meat and three quarters of its cheese, sugar, fruits, cereals and fats.” Gusoyn reeled the figures off with gloomy relish. “Bacon, meat, tea, jam, butter, sugar, biscuits, breakfast cereals, cheese, eggs, milk and canned fruit have all been rationed. Bread and potatoes have not; not yet, at any rate. If it is any consolation, fish and chips is not rationed either although I am told it is very expensive. We will be given ration books when we disembark. If we stay at a hotel, we have to surrender them to the hotel management while we stay there and retrieve them when we leave. Oh, restaurant meals are not rationed but they are really expensive.”
“That shouldn’t worry us, ducks. We’ve got a big budget for this trip. Lillith’s done us proud on the money front. I’m not sure why.” Eleanor paused while the engines went to full power and the flying boat took off. Underneath, Ireland was richly green, the rolling hills running down to the deep blue of the Shannon River. She suddenly felt severely homesick and questioned her decision to leave her homeland. Then she settled down and common sense reasserted itself. England had held very little for her and the prospect of a new country had been overwhelming. Then again, there was a lot she had needed to hide.
Achillea was looking down at the same sights. In her case, she was seriously grateful for the fact that they were flying direct to Southampton. The last time she had visited the area they were now flying over, her behavior hadn’t been calculated to win friends and influence people. She was quite convinced there were people with memories long enough to put a bullet in her back if she ever returned to the small village of Béal na mBláth. “I guess Phillip wants to know what things are really like on the ground over here. We’re a reconnaissance party to him.”
“Keep that thought to yourself, ducks.” Eleanor looked around but they were alone in their section of the Boeing 314. “What’s a reconnaissance to him there could well be considered spying by the people here.”
“We have been given our instructions. It is for us to obey them.” Sir Richard Graham Cardew stuck his chin out pugnaciously. “There may have been some point in discussing whether we should follow London’s lead when we had no specific instructions to do so, although I could not see any merit in such a discussion and still do not for that matter. But now we have clear instructions and we have no option other than to obey them. That is the way it has always been and that is the way it shall remain.”
Lord Linlithgow frowned mightily, not quite so much at the content of the words but at the tone in which they had been uttered. The truth of the words might be argued; the tone of disrespect within them could not. He was already aware that Cardew was attempting to assemble a supporting clique from the traditionalists within the old guard of the Indian civil service. “Is there any word from the other Dominions?”
“There is indeed, Your Excellency,” Gerald Tarrant was actually having a hard job stopping himself laughing. The Australians might be an uncouth lot but they had a talent for a pithy phrase. They have sent a message to London which reads ‘if the Colonial and Dominion Offices had sent us a dispatch of the tone and content exemplified by this message, we would tell them to get stuffed.’ Prime Minister Robert Menzies has resigned, saying his identification with the London regime has rendered him unfit to lead Australia at this time.”